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***Mak's POV***

Everyday I waited to hear back from each adoption agency. The first three were the last to respond. I sit on the edge of the bed with trembling hands, praying that these three offer better news.

It's not like I expected the others to be accommodating. Most of them had strong guidelines, same sex couples were not exactly omitted. They just weren't included in the general by laws.

Thirty other institutions denied us solely based on our love life. I expected that. It didn't hurt half as much as I had assumed.

The three envelopes in my hand threaten my sanity.

My fingers shake as I read the first one. The words blurring together as tears fill my eyes.

Mr. Parker,

We regret to inform you, we can not assist you in search to begin the adoption process. Please don't believe that this has anything to do with your sexual orientation. It does not.

After a thorough background search, and many hard decisions we have concluded:

You are not prepared to create a vital nurturing environment for a child who
may come to you less than whole. Having basically raised yourself, you offer no background in a family setting.

While we hate to punish you for things out of your control, we cannot in good conscious place a child with you and your husband.

Do not let this deter you in your journey to become parents. I have inserted a pamphlet with other resources that may aid you in your aspirations.

Once again, I apologize for the disheartening news.

Your truly,

Angie

They are sorry. That's what I receive, an apology. I pass the letter off to Grey so he can read the discouraging reason we have, yet again, been denied a child.

Dear Makil Parker,

While you come from a stellar educational background and immense wealth, we have decided to deny your application.

The reason for our decision is based solely on your medical background.

Having a history of both seizures and anxiety, we feel your health is more important than the need to start a family.

At this time, we are sending you this letter with sincere hope that you will find stability in your health and try again one day in the future.

A child comes with severe responsibility and everyday stressors. While we know you have not had a seizure in some time, it is against policy to place a child with anyone who may still have a threat of such a life altering occurrence.

Please seek our services once you have been medically cleared for a period of at least five years.

This is nothing personal. We have inserted a list of other agencies, in which you may qualify.

Our deepest appreciation for your application.

Sincerely,

Harvard Ulyssess

"My medical history." I wipe my eyes before rolling them. They are grasping at straws. I don't know why they keep denying our applications.

We want a child. Is that so wrong? How can the need and desire to love a less fortunate being, be wrong?

The third and final letter shakes in my hands. I almost don't want to open it. I will. But, I have a feeling I'm not going to be enthused.

Sliding my finger under the thick lip of the elegant envelope, I pull the fancy parchment paper out.

I close my eyes and say a silent prayer that my gut is absolutely wrong.

I open the letter slowly, careful not to read the words until I have straightened the two creases in the tri fold. I take a deep breath.

My eyes scan the words. I read it twice. Some words staring back at me more boldly than the others.

Greyson and Makil Parker,

I have penned this letter more than enough times. It never gets easier.

We have spent many days, nights and weeks combing through the scientific evidence. We searched for any reason that would benefit you in your endeavors.

With that said, we have come to a decision.

As authorities, we are responsible for fragile lives. These children come from backgrounds of abandonment. Often times, they have been victims of traumatic experiences including mental, physical and even sexual abuse.

Some research debunks the idea that abusers were abused. However, I cannot find legitimate legal standing to side with those findings.

Makil has been a victim of such depravity. Those wounds have taken their toll on him mentally, emotionally.

We cannot say with certainty the scars that are unseeable to the naked eye. Placing a child with someone who themselves were abused, it's irresponsible.

I can't take the chance that Makil will not find himself in a place where he begins having such unimaginable thoughts, urges.

For this reason, and only reason, we are denying your application.

It's unfair, it's detestable. The truth is we don't know. It's not a risk we are willing to take.

While we are not accusing you, Makil, of being an abuser we are saying that statistics are not in your favor. You are at a higher risk of becoming what has plagued you.

We apologize for the time you spent in seeking out our agency. We appreciate your desire to give a child a stable living environment.

We are just not confident that you will be able to provide that living arrangement.

I have enclosed a list of research documents that support our decision. I have covered our liabilities. It is within our scope to deny you access to any child under our care.

Please take the time to seek out professional help regarding your past experiences.

Regards,

Ginger Morris

I know I did not just read that. It's impossible.

"Is this some type of Minority Report? Foreshadowing? A fucking premonition? I have the ability to become a pedophile because I was a fucking victim of a pedophile?" My words are loud.

I want to scream, thrash. I want to throw things and let out my frustrations over this whole god forsaken process that has taken six months of my life.

I have dreamt of a family forever. Grey breathed life into that dream in Greece. He offered me a future filled with tiny pattering feet. He offered me a vision of a family, love, a life more fulfilled.

It's my own personal past which has deterred all our plans.

We can't have a family because of me.

Because my parents were lower than pond scum, I can't become a parent.

Because I struggled and supported my own education, with financial help, we can't possibly provide a child with a better life.

Because Carl Fucking Luger chose to steal my innocence, I can't raise a child. So, he steals from me yet again.

Because my body handles stress on a nuclear level, I can't be stressed.

Well they failed. I feel stressed. I feel triggered. I feel accused. I feel judged and less than. I am nothing in their eyes because of the sins of people in my past.

Not because I myself have ever broken a law, no. Not because I exhibit any signs of becoming a monster, no. Not because I am a wicked and inhumane person, no.

Because I suffered at the hands of vile, corrupt and depraved people, I will suffer yet again.

The scream comes without warning. The tears fall fast and hard. They hit my hands as my fingertips claw into my forehead.

It never ends. You are never free. Someone will always find away to use what was done to you against you.

No matter how many people I have helped. No matter how hard I love. It doesn't matter that I am genuinely a good person.

All that matters is that my past has put me in jeopardy of becoming the monsters that haunt me.

I'm not a low life. I'm not sick. I'm not a pedophile.

The word tastes disgusting on my tongue. It bounces harshly in my head, sickening me to my core.

I couldn't. I wouldn't.

I just want to love and be loved. Is that too much to ask? Obviously, it is.

"That was the last one." I close my eyes and let the last tear slide down my face. I can't imagine how it came to this.

"Baby, it's going to be okay. Please don't cry." Grey sits beside me and pulls me into his arms He cradles me against his chest.

I lose control.

"Okay? Okay? No it won't be okay. Nothing is fine. It won't be. I'm the reason. Not you. Me. It's me. It will always be me. I am why we can't have a child by adoption." I cry harder. I lied. That wasn't the last tear. The supply seems endless.

"Fuck them. Fuck them to hell in a hand basket. Nothing in those letters is true. Do you hear me? Listen to me. I love you. I love you so fucking much. Don't. Don't let them break you. They are all awful, horrible excuses for care givers. Baby just don't." Grey clutches me and rocks us back and forth.

"What is going on?" Mark's voice is scared, frantic.

"This." Grey throws the letters at Mark. He picks one up and hands the others to the group as every event of my life is thrown back in my face by the words typed on that paper.

"Give me a fucking break!" Seb almost growls. Arms wrap around me. More arms. Even more arms.

I cry harder.

"Don't do this Mak." Mario cries into my shoulder.

I'm at my end, I can't handle it. Nothing. Anymore. They stripped me bare.

"You are none of those things." Kip whimpers as my body shakes.

"You're the best person we know. Those people are wrong." Alex grips my chin and shakes his head.

It doesn't help. These people, that matter so much in my world, none of it helps. They can love me forever. I will still be exactly what those papers say I am.

Abused, neglected and tainted.

I will never be what's good for a child. Not in the eyes of the people who hold the power to give me what I want.

"Thank you." I whisper the words through sniffles and tears. They are just trying to help.

I crawl from below that bodies that try to hold me together. I wish it worked.

"Where are you going?" Grey sounds strangled, scared.

"To the bathroom." My feet take slow steps. I look back at my family. They all hold one another, each one genuinely concerned for my benefit.

I enter the bathroom and close the door. I lock it.

I want to be alone. I want to process all this information that I already was a privy to.

I slide down to my knees and push my face into my hands.

The tears roll profusely down my cheeks. My body tremors with remorse, sadness and disappointment.

My cries are loud, debilitating.

I'm nothing. Invaluable. Unable to be reformed.

The whole of my existence, my achievements and my emotional battles that I won are nothing.

All I will ever be seen as is the kid whose parents ran a sex trafficking operation. I will be a slave to my panic, anxiety and stress. I will always be on the cusp of becoming a predator.

Even though, I don't feel like any of those things.

My heart tells me I am more than the circumstances that I grew up in. I am a survivor. I am strong, healthy and whole.

It doesn't matter. To those who hold the weight in this world, I'm not enough. Never enough.

The crying doesn't end until I fall asleep at the foot of the door. My hands still holding my face. My knees still holding my elbows. My mind still working rapidly to heal fresh wounds.